Purity
by Harri
Summary: "...and they call you a child..."
1. The Journey Begins

The night was darkening when Acacia came to the Shire.  
  
She had travelled far that day: miles of such a high number that she did not even know how to count them. Her fingers were raw with the constant grip on the reins of her horse, her face flushed by the wind that had beat against it all day. Her body was racked with aching, and she fell off her horse onto the ground as soon as she reached her destination. Fell onto the grass, soft and sprinkled with cool evening dew. She had not felt such a soft texture underfoot since she left Rivendell, she had not been so glad of rest before in her life.  
  
But rest was not for her.  
  
She had come for a reason.  
  
Acacia murmured soft words in her native tongue to the horse, which seemed to nod in understanding that it should stay in this place until bidded by its young mistress. She then slowly walked on aching legs towards the edge of the high bank on which she stood. It was a breathtaking sight, this view of the green Shire, and what lay before her indeed was enticing, though there was little time to enjoy it. She watched as scores of little Hobbits danced and made merry under the first stars, marvelled at the expense and lengths they had gone to in order to hold such a party. She could barely make out the wording on a large banner which overhung much of the open-air venue, though she noticed one word over all.  
  
*Baggins*  
  
Baggins.   
  
Baggins...where had she heard that name? It was a Hobbit name, no doubt, if her little knowledge of the Halfling race was true. Baggins...she closed her eyes...it had been whispered amongst the trees, carried across the wind.  
  
Could this one name, these two simple syllables, be why she had come here?  
  
Baggins...  
  
*Shire...aaaagggghhh...Bagginssss...*  
  
It all came to her, in a rush of realisation and confusion. She remembered the silent terror that she had felt, as she walked among her enemies under a cloak of invisibility on her recent journey to Mordor. The rasping voice that had screamed so few words in such agony that it had echoed all around...she had heard it.  
  
*Shire...aaaagggghhh...Bagginssss...*  
  
Where her doubts and questions as to the real meaning of her quest had once been, now she had an all too clear realisation.  
  
Baggins of the Shire was right here, under her very nose, and this was the beginning of her quest. 


	2. Shire...Bagginsss...

The evening grew late, and Acacia stayed very still, on her knees, peering through the small bushes that went up the bank on which she knelt, at the spectacle below her. Her Elven reflexes did not often expose her to mortal emotions such as pure exhaustion, but tonight she felt close to them.   
And in truth she was almost asleep when it happened.  
  
The crowd below had been silent for a couple of minutes, she had noticed, though she had not quite gathered why. Perhaps an injury...or a shortage of the pipe weed that their race so dearly loved, she thought ruefully.   
  
But as she looked closer, her keen ears straining, she heard a voice. One of them was making a speech. Baggins?  
  
And then it happened.  
  
The little man on the makeshift stage had...vanished.  
  
Vanished.  
  
The power of the ring was surely one of the only ways that such a magical feat could be accomplished.  
  
The ring.  
  
Baggins.  
  
Without a word, she got up, leapt onto her horse, and spirited away under the cover of darkness. 


	3. The Fears Of Lord Elrond

All night Acacia rode on, spurring her beast until it hung its head in exhaustion and slowed to a weary trot. They had been galloping for hours, and as Acacia would feel compassion for a friend or brother, she pitied her horse. It had served her well, and would continue to do so. Was it not born of the Mark? Was it not of the stables of Rohan? This remained a comfort to her, though she remembered little of the land from which it came, save the great King Théoden and his tall Riders with their proud steeds and magnificent golden hair that flew behind them like victory banners in the wind.  
  
It was nearing dawn when Acacia dismounted her horse and fell, drained and aching, onto the forest floor. She had reached a clearing in the woods; and though her head was filled with thoughts of the Black Riders she had been following since they left Mordor, and the dangers that surfaced if she dared even turn her back for a moment, a part of her had stopped caring. It was the part of her that wanted to go back to Rivendell, or to Lorien, and live out her days amongst the Elves and their magic, never to be hungry or hurt or hurried again. But the part of her that remained was too strong to contain such defeatism in her heart, and she drew herself up slowly.  
  
''Be strong, my friend.''she murmured to the waiting horse.''We ride with the dawn.''  
  
*******  
  
''What news from Mirkwood?''asked Lord Elrond Halfelven of his messenger, as he sat dining at the breakfast table with his daughter.  
''His Highness, my King Thranduil, sends you his regards, Lord.''the young Elf replied.''He also asked after the young lady.''  
Elrond nodded.''Tell him the Lady Arwen is quite well.''  
The messenger frowned suddenly.''Forgive me, Lord, but he spoke not of the Lady Arwen. King Thranduil asked of a Half-elf, a...a child. She came to you not ten days ago before riding to Mordor.''  
''Mordor!''Arwen said suddenly.''None may enter Mordor of their own accord with ease, a child least of all. Know you of this folly, my father?''  
Elrond looked grave.''I remember the girl well. Brave, yet foolish. She rode a horse of Rohan.''He paused.''I knew not that Mordor was her quest; or I would have restrained her from attempting it. These are dark times, that we know.''  
Arwen's beautiful face was deeply saddened.''I remember none such visitor, Father, for many come and go without my knowing, but I grieve for her. For she may perish under an evil blade, or worse, in the fires of that terrible Mountain, if she has not.''  
''Tell your King that I have heard no word from Acacia since she left Rivendell. My fears I will not speak before the Lady, though do not trouble Thranduil with speculations. Only ensure that he knows I received the girl.''  
  
Elrond stared out of the window, at the horizons beyond his land of peace and beauty.''And may the powers of my people keep the child and spare her from an untold fate.'' 


	4. A Quest Unknown

She had been following them for days, as she had followed the Black Riders, though the whereabouts of the latter was now unknown to her.   
  
Four Halflings, on a quest she had yet to discover, and their companion, a Ranger by dress and manner, yet seemingly more than what he hid under that billowing cloak. It had flashed through her mind more than once that he could be...but, no. It was a foolish notion, and Acacia was not given to foolishness, and intended to keep it so. The small company stopped to rest as soon as the sun went down-for which Acacia and her horse were glad, for it provided unusual rest for both-and seemed to be hurrying to a certain destination, though she knew not what it could be. Rivendell? They were heading in the right direction. But what would for unkempt Halflings and their mysterious friend want with the Elves?  
  
She often wondered what she wanted with the Elves. Why did the halls of Lorien, the paths of Mirkwood, the peaceful air in Rivendell feel so right?  
  
Acacia was little more than a half-elf, sired by a knight of the great land of Men, Gondor, and daughter of a noble Elven maiden, raised amongst the trees of Lothlorien. Her father had disappeared when Acacia was barely old enough to hold the memory of him; her mother was left behind with a broken heart and baby in her arms. He had promised the maid marraige, promised her a happy mortal life in his great home. But he had gone, gone to answer the call of the Horn of his precious Gondor, and his sweetheart had been cast from Elven favour, mother of a child of Man, born and begotten in wedlock, only halfway to mortal status. All this had been the death and ruin of the Elf-lady, and Acacia had been abandoned as a young Elfling, left to fend for herself alone.  
  
All her life Acacia had moved from one place to another, seeking refuge amongst the wild creatures of the woods and her kith and kin the Elves, when she could. They had taught her how to shoot a bow and arrow swiftly, how to defend herself competently in hand-to-hand combat, and how to listen to the songs of the ancients and learn to understand them. But she never sang the songs...only revelled in the words, and it was the memory of the sweet chanting under the fair boughs of the Lorien trees that kept Acacia going, kept her fighting, on her journey. On her quest, whatever it could be.  
  
What her quest was, in fact, Acacia knew not. She rode from place to place, marvelling at the greatness of Middle Earth, fearing nothing and nobody and with no company but that of her horse, if she could return to Rohan enough to trade for a new one, just once in a while.   
  
Some said she had the skills of the most learned Elf, some said she had the ways of the bravest Ranger, and some said that she was as foolish as the simple Halflings. Whatever she was, Acacia was a survivor. A traveller. She knew as much of the world as the wisest wizards, and knew less of herself than a newborn baby.  
  
She was special. 


	5. Forgotten King

Aragorn stood guard every night, sworn Protector of the Halflings that he travelled with, watching for their pursuors, the great and terrible Ringwraiths, who followed them every moment, desiring the Ring with a deadly vengeance, and betrayed only by their deafening, terrifying screeches.   
  
Tonight, the air was unnaturally still. No screeches, no whispers carried on the wind. Aragorn sensed something...or someone?   
  
''Strider...''  
  
He started, then recognized Sam's voice.  
  
''Sam, go to sleep.''he said, as patiently as he could allow himself to be.''I beseech you. For tomorrow there will be no time for rest. We must reach Weathertop with the next sundown.''  
  
''Can you hear 'em? The Black Riders, I mean? Are they...close?''Sam persisted, worried tones ringing in his speech.  
  
''I hear nothing.''Aragorn said, not looking at the young hobbit.''Now sleep.''  
  
''Yes, Strider, beggin' your pardon...only, I thought I heard a horse. Close by, if you get my meanin'. Couldn't see anything though, the woods are dark.''  
  
Aragorn looked over to where Sam was pointing.''The trees have not been disturbed, Sam. You hear what is not there. If a wraith came that close, do you not think it would have attacked yet?''  
  
Sam lay down and tried to close his eyes, but he heard it again. The faintest whinny... Aragorn heard it too, and curiosity led him to investigate.  
  
''Who goes there?''he asked, his strong voice loud and bold in the darkness. Behind the trees, Acacia stiffened at the sound. She had been discovered.  
  
''Show yourself, or prepare to fight!''Aragorn warned, drawing his sword. He saw a black figure move forward from amongst the trees, a flash of silver at their belt.  
  
''A wraith!''he cried, running forth and wrestling the unsuspecting stranger to the ground. But, to his surprise, this 'wraith' was surprisingly...small. He moved off his victim and threw of the hood of their dark cloak.  
To his shock, and the waking hobbits', he saw the face of a young girl. Her skin shone pale gold in the moonlight, her eyes were huge and emerald-green, and her hair fell about her face in tangled ebony curls. She was breathing hard, and flushed.  
  
''Not a wraith, but quite happily your enemy!''she said, glaring at Aragorn with a defiance that unnerved him.''How dare you spring on me so! I have half a mind to teach you a lesson you shall not forget in a long time, brute!''  
  
Aragorn was beside himself with a mixture of relief, surprise and guilt.''Lady...forgive me...I thought...''  
  
''I know what you thought.''the girl answered, leaping to her feet.''And address me not as 'Lady', for I am no more deserving of the title than you are.''  
  
The hobbits had been watching this episode, and tried to hide their amusement. A young girl had truly put the great Strider in his place, and they had to laugh.  
  
''Pray, tell me who you are, child.''Aragorn said, facing her.  
''I am Acacia, if it has any consequence to you.''answered Acacia, her green eyes flashing wildly.  
''Forgive me, Acacia. My name is...''  
''You need not tell me your name, for I had pondered it in my mind long before this meeting, and been clarified the moment I heard your voice. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and Isildur of Gondor's heir. Though perhaps lacking in chivalry and forethought, and not quite so well met as I would have liked.''Acacia interrupted, staring at the tall man.  
  
''You know much more, young Acacia, than your years would betray.''Aragorn replied. There was a strange sort of fearlessness in this wilful child that he had not at first expected. He then noticed her ears.  
  
''An Elf!''  
  
She shook her head, her black curls whipping her cheeks pink.''Do not assume too much, Ranger...or perhaps I should say, Forgotten King?'' Aragorn looked a little hurt at such a title, and Acacia felt guilty, for the first time in her life. ''I am neither Elf nor mortal, but halfcast between. My mother was an Elf of the great forest of Lothlorien, and my father a man of Gondor like yourself. Though neither now remain, I am Half-elven, a title known to Lord Elrond, if you know of him.''  
  
''Elrond!''Aragorn was surprised.''You have been to Rivendell?''  
''Nine days have passed since. And I have learned much, but nought of the quest that you and your little companions seem to be embarking on.''  
  
''What business is that of yours, wench?''spat Sam, who had been listening to the conversation and now profusely disliked this Elf girl who dared slight Strider. Acacia glanced at him scornfully.  
  
''Much more than you can countenance, Halfling.''she told him.''There is much that I have seen.'' She looked over at Frodo, who was staring at her with wide blue eyes.''What look do you give me?''she demanded, striding over.''What importance do you give yourself that you go about with that rude stare?''  
  
  
''Speak not foully to Frodo, Acacia.''Aragorn told her.''He carries a trinket of great importance, and must be wary at all times. Forgive his staring, if you will.''  
  
''I will.''Acacia said, her face curious.''A trinket, you say? What trinket is this?''She looked around, confused.  
  
'' 'Ow do we know you're not one of them spies?''demanded Sam suddenly.''Strider! She could be Sauron's messenger! Do not speak of our quest!''  
  
''Sauron needs no messenger.''Acacia said coldly.''His forces in Mordor are moving. I spy for none but myself.'' Aragorn nodded. Acacia knew much that could be useful. They could not afford to keep the tidings concerning the Ring a secret.  
  
''Frodo!''he called.''The Ring!''  
Frodo looked at Strider in surprise, but obediently took out the Ring and held it in his palm for Acacia to see.  
''Behold.''Aragorn said seriously.''The One Ring.''  
  
Acacia was speechless. She had heard Elfsongs of the Ring of Power, but passed it off as legend. And now it was right before her, and in the possession of a Halfling.  
  
''The Ring.''she murmured. So this was the cause of Sauron's current wrath. She hardly dared to believe it.''How came it to be in the hands of such an unlikely creature?''  
  
''It was left to me by my uncle. Bilbo Baggins.''  
Acacia felt her heart almost stop. Bilbo Baggins...  
She remembered watching the party in the Shire. Remembered the hobbit they called Baggins. Remembered the screams of a tortured prisoner that echoed around Mordor.  
  
*Shire....arrghhh....Bagginsssss!*  
  
''Baggins!''she crired aloud.''Then it is you the Black Riders are pursuing. It all ties in...''  
  
The five others stared at her.  
  
''Forgive me, but this is where I must leave you. I ride to Rivendell!''  
  
And she ran back into the trees, mounted her horse, and rode forth to the House of Elrond. 


End file.
